This is a gift (that will hopefully keep on growing) for my cousin Karrana. It's an AU based loosely off an RP we've been doing for the past few years. In it, the Elric Brothers don't exist, but everyone else in the FMA cast does. At the moment, I have no idea whether this fic is going to have actual romance or hint at pairings, but I do know that it will be quite fun.
Incidentally, this fic might have a very bizarre updating schedule, since I'd like to keep this fic going along with my Black Cat fanfiction Amantes sunt Amentes and other works. But I do plan on metaphorically milking this idea for all it's worth.
(Oh, and Karrana? SURPRISE!)
Dolls
By
Godell
Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, only this plot.
Chapter One: In Which Roy and Envy Get More Than They Bargained For
The white pawn is sent forward first, tiny and helpless in the midst of a battlefield of black and white. A pawn as seemingly fragile as a porcelain doll, a plaything in a madwoman's hands.
Seemingly.
Envy was thoroughly, utterly ticked off.
He slouched as much as he was able to slouch, encased as he was in a series of ever-entwining chains specifically designed to "entrap Homunculi". He was strapped to a chair and staring uncomfortably at a very bright light. Granted, he wasn't exactly "entrapped" so much as playing the role of "captured villain". James Bondage, if you will.
Dante wanted someone to infiltrate the military—someone to play a few mind games, blackmail a squadron or two, and make a few high-ranking officers more than a little confused and humiliated. Envy was on to that idea like a brat in a candy store. Lead people on a wild goose chase? No problem! Gain the trust of those around him? Get "captured", tied up very uncomfortably, and brought in for questioning? Maybe.
Get kicked out of the house when he complained (even if it was "to make it more authentic")?
No. Bloody. Way.
Envy wriggled around some more, attempting to figure out exactly how Lust had tied the damn chains so tightly. He knew that the chains themselves were broken easily enough…or they would have been. The problem was Lust had made absolutely sure to have the chains crisscross over each other repeatedly, and they tightly wrapped his arms and legs, rendering him all-but-immobile.
When I get back she is dead, Envy thought to himself, growling as the rattling of the chains seemed to mock him.
Colonel Roy Mustang, alias the Flame Alchemist, was more than happy to leave his paperwork and question the newly captured Homunculus.
He walked down the hallway at a brisk pace, hands in his pockets, ready to put on his gloves and snap away if needed—though he doubted it would be necessary, as the Homunculi had made it quite clear in the past to avoid provoking him.
He caught the eyes of a few secretaries, smiled, winked and continued on his way, pleased at the gleeful giggles that accompanied his passing along the corridor.
It must have been the hair—recently cut, fine and coal-black—or perhaps his eyes…
Or his potential as an up-and-coming officer.
"Don't get distracted, sir," Riza Hawkeye informed him, her expression as stern as it always was. She may have looked pretty—honey blonde hair, rich brown eyes and tanned skin—but she was his Lieutenant for a reason.
"Don't worry, I know what I have to do." Roy yawned and stretched, enjoying the way his new military medals glinted in the sunlight. Ah, promotion. Such a wonderful thing. "So, any news on what this Homunculus' abilities are?"
"…Shapeshifting I believe, sir. At least that's what the soldier who captured him said." Hawkeye tapped a clipboard with the report nestled comfortably on it. "Actually, he said that someone else seemed to have captured the creature first. The Furher seems a little more pleased than usual, but one can only assume."
"Hmm…interesting." Roy frowned as he pushed the door of the questioning room open. "Well, then, let's see what this Homunculus looks like."
"Should I come too?" Hawkeye asked, resting her hand on her holster.
Roy shook his head and smiled confidently. "I'll handle this."
"Even if it's a woman, sir?" Hawkeye raised an eyebrow, her eyes holding a trace of amusement.
"Why would I not be able to handle that?" Roy asked innocently, cocking his head to one side.
Hawkeye chuckled softly. "When it comes to women, you're easy to exploit."
"Except when it comes to you, Lieutenant."
"Only because I have my gun ready, and a new pile of paperwork for you later."
Roy winced. "Lovely."
"I'll be waiting."
"Thanks."
He stepped into the room, and…
…Felt his eyebrows rise up somewhere past his scalp. Or at least, that was what he felt like they were doing.
He had always enjoyed the sight of miniskirts on a woman—hitting puberty in a private boarding school helped quite a lot—but back then he had not been unsureof the wearer's gender.
Roy looked the Homunculus up and down. The long, green hair could have been any gender, the black, midriff-baring top didn't help, but the skirt…or at least it looked like a skirt…
The Ouroborus tattoo didn't help much either: placed directly in between where the creature's skirt-thing ended and its thighs began, the crimson mark seemed to glow in the vibrant lamp light. The creature's legs were a strange mixture of both feminine and masculine, and ever-so-slightly accented by muscle.
In the back of his mind, Roy secretly hoped it was a girl. And that 'she' was attracted to him. Not that that would be any trouble—
The Homunculus grinned, showing off very sharp teeth. "What's wrong, Colonel?" it asked, its voice deep and purring, almost sounding like a boy going through puberty, only better. "Getting a little…confused?"
Roy's eyebrows rose further, and his mouth sagged open in astonishment.
It's…male? Well, fine, I can…sort of see how that would work…
"I would just morph my clothes off to prove it, but I'm sure you've got much more important things on your oh-so-steely mind. Oh, and in case you're wondering, this is a skort. Sorry to disappoint." The Homunculus rolled his eyes and suggestively shifted in his chair.
Roy cleared his throat and reverted to his usual mindset of cool and reserved. "Thank you for reminding me—"
"—My pleasure—" The Homunculus interjected, looking the epitome of your atypical sarcastic teenager.
"—About why I'm here," Roy continued coldly. "You were found outside Central HQ, unconscious and bound. Do you remember why?"
The Homunculus shrugged, still grinning. "Hell if I know."
Roy rolled his eyes. "We'll see about that. I'll ask again later. What's your name? How were you made?"
"Envy…though my 'creator' bit the big one a few months back. Him and his pretty little wife and kids." He smiled wickedly. "You should have seen their faces! Gold eyes filled with fear…"
Roy glowered at Envy, hating the look on the Homunculus' face—like he was savoring some sort of fine appetizer. "Do you know how you were made?"
"Top secret. No trespassers." Envy made a face at him and turned his interest to a crack on the floor.
"How many of you Homunculi are there?"
"Awfully blunt, aren't you? Getting straight to the point. No hedging, no sugar-coating, just…questions. Fascinating."
"Answer the question!"
"There are…five now, counting me." Envy's look turned back to him, curious. "How many siblings do you have, Colonel?"
Roy's mind briefly reran the memory of a train rolling away. "None of your business. I'm the one asking questions."
"Oh, you must've been an only child." Envy's expression turned thoughtful. "Let's see…where did you grow up?"
"I told you, I'm—"
Envy's lips curled. "I see. You grew up near an army base, didn't you? Very interesting. Was your Papa an officer, too? Were you proud to be his son?"
Roy felt a growl rumble in the back of his throat. Envy seemed to be pressing down lightly on every one of his most sensitive nerves. He tried to interrupt again, but Envy was too quick for him:
"I'm assuming he died. Oooh, I was right. Where'd he die, Colonel? In the trenches? Out at sea? From some illness or other? Or…" Envy gasped in surprise. "Oh, my. A family feud? How terrible."
Roy closed his eyes and thought about what his father had taught him: look at the entire picture.
He opened his eyes and surveyed Envy's smug expression again. He was smug, yes, but also shackled tightly enough that it was clear it was affecting his "blood" circulation. He was bluffing—or attempting to amuse himself in some sick way.
"You know, for a Homunculus who's barely able to breathe properly, you're certainly game," he said coolly, folding his arms across his chest. "Chances are, if I leave you here, you'll probably lose the use of your limbs."
It was Envy's turn to pause.
"Chances, chances, chances," Roy said softly, setting his hands on the armrests of Envy's chair. "There's a chance that you'll be sent off to the labs for tests. There's a chance you'll be made into a sideshow freak for the military's entertainment. Hell, there's even a chance I'll just burn you to pieces before they get to you."
He tapped his fingers against the moldy wood for emphasis, letting Envy take in the transmutation circles on his gloves.
Nothing from Envy.
"Did you know," Roy continued, his eyes never leaving Envy's face, "that Xing's been looking for the proper consort for their Prince? To literally have whomever you wanted…the Prince would be very pleased. And then there's Drachma. We need something to solidify our peace treaty. A pretty creature like you would do fine—though maybe they'd want to break you in first."
Roy watched a flicker of doubt pass over Envy's eyes.
"Those are all chances, all possibilities. At this moment, Envy, you're nothing but a doll for the military to use. You're worse than a military dog—you're either information or a bargaining chip."
Envy couldn't hide the look in his eyes. Not for one second.
"But there's one final chance." Roy leaned forward, close enough that their noses were almost able to touch. "There's a chance that, if you answer my questions, you'll be put under my care. And maybe we'll sort things out—i.e., let you go free."
Envy stared at him silently, then shrugged, making the chains rattle. "I'll bet Master never expected this when he tossed me out. Well, I guess we'll see."
"Good."
A smile with teeth that are far too sharp graces the first player's lips.
"Your move, Colonel."
The game has begun.